


The Art of Dreaming

by st_aurafina



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-07
Updated: 2011-07-07
Packaged: 2017-10-21 03:33:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/220447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_aurafina/pseuds/st_aurafina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott knows the power of dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2006, during issues #13-18 of Astonishing X-Men. Scott has been telepathically whammied by Emma, he's currently comatose and powerless. We all spent a few weeks chewing our nails and writing fic to explore what was going on there until the next issue came out.

This is a dream about falling. Scott recognises the feeling, and knows that consciousness is hovering nearby. He wraps his arm tighter around Alex’s chest (so small, so cold), twists their bodies around mid-air so that the burning debris pelts his own broad back instead of his brother’s.

“It’s only a dream,” he whispers in Alex’s ear, even though the boy can’t hear in the roaring wind. “We’ll wake up soon. Everything will be fine.”

The ground rises up towards him, round and green and velvety. At the last minute, he remembers that everything is not fine at all, but it’s too late, and the impact — which hurts a lot less than he expected — is like a burst of red behind his eyelids.

 

This is a dream about falling. The older boys in the orphanage dorm tell the younger ones that when you dream of falling, you’d better wake up before you hit the ground, or else you’ll be dead. Scott avoids the boys who offer him their dubious protection, but he listens to what they say. He carries a piece of broken glass in his pocket and says it’s for self-defence. At night he tucks it under his pillow, for these dreams.

This time, when he opens his eyes and sees the sky all around, he’s ready. He reaches for his makeshift knife and, without hesitating, pushes it hard against the palm of his hand. The glass is icy as it slides easily through his skin. He watches the blood welling around the edges of the wound. This time he promises he’ll wake up before he hits the ground.

 

This is a dream about falling. Scott knows these dreams – you realise that you’re dreaming and then you’re awake. He waits for wakefulness to come, while flaming pieces of metal sizzle through the air.

He can feel the heat of the explosion billowing around him, the waves of warm air lift and spin his body like a falling leaf. He smiles to himself and stretches out his arms. Despite the situation, the feeling reminds him of sex. Maybe this is one of those dreams that becomes improbably populated with cheerleaders.

“This isn’t a dream,” says Jean, in her terrible voice, and she spreads her wings to welcome him in. The heat blisters his face as he dives into her.

 

This is a dream about falling. Scott knows he’s dreaming: his awareness of it is sharp against his tongue like snow. He fans out his arms and legs, tries to slow his descent, give himself time to think. This is a dream, he tells himself. The ground below him is so welcoming, soft and white. He has fallen in this place before. He closes his eyes.

What was it that he was trying to remember? When he opens his eyes again, snow flashes red and disappears in a flurry of powder.

It comes to him instantly – this is his dream. He doesn’t have to fall: if he wants to, he can fly.


End file.
